


Captured in Crystal

by Ravvi



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (Not always traumatic, Betrayal, Branding, Degradation, Grooming, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other, Papyrus - Freeform, Rape Culture, Sexual Slavery, Underfell Grillby (Singe), Underfell Mettaton (Neo), but Papyrus isn’t in a position to safely refuse) slavery, implied prostitution, non-con, self deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravvi/pseuds/Ravvi
Summary: Papyrus is a blameless cinnamon bun and gets taken advantage of for it.A huge shoutout to HJ for all their wonderful feedback and support.  They're a fantastic bean, and totally worth following for those on Twitterat @hj_skb.Created for the Lattices and Cracks Zine.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Captured in Crystal

Papyrus stared at the floor between his knees, head pounding from exhaustion and the uneasy remnants of his own terror. His arms were tightly shackled to a metal pipe that jutted out of the wall above his head, making it impossible to rest. Not that lying down would have been much more comfortable. The floor reeked of stale sweat, and was so dirty that it looked like splintery, blackened stone. The filth had rubbed off on his legs, making them look diseased in the sliver of light bleeding across the floor.

He took a shaky breath through the gag and shifted his weight. The place where they had branded his shin was still burning, like a hot iron was being ground into the bone. Even thinking about it made overwhelmed tears prick at the corners of his eyes and the memory replayed itself again in his mind...  
  


_“I’m sorry! Whatever I did I-hrrrk!”_

_“Hold him down and for fuck’s sake, don’t damage him! This little spitfire is gonna make us rich…”_

The light beneath the door flared. Papyrus recoiled against the wall, adrenaline surging through his body as he instinctively reached for his magic.

“NNNGH!” He choked as sharp, electric pain shot down his leg from the brand, making the last four toes on his foot spasm. It shattered his concentration, and the half-formed attacks dissolved into a shower of faint sparkles. Biting down on the gag, he rocked in place, waiting for the lingering sting to fade.

“Through here, your lordship sir. We were very careful...”

The door swung open. Blindingly bright light poured over him, and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Careful? You call this careful?! I wouldn’t store a fungus farm in this disgusting cell, let alone such a _priceless_ … Oh, you incompetent _fools!”_

Papyrus squinted into the light, fear fading into disbelief. The speaker’s humanoid face was a mask of burnished steel, eyes accentuated with delicate makeup and tiny gemstones. But beneath the adornment, the structure was harsh, angular and aggressive. Anger was permanently captured in the tilt of the eyebrows, a cruel sneer in the corners of the mouth. The effect was powerful and terrifying, like the Angel had been brought to life and sent to live amongst mortals with fierce, vengeful purpose.

Papyrus cringed as the monster extended a hand...

A silk-clad thumb gently brushed the side of his face, wiping away a tear. 

“Where did you come from?” The angelic monster murmured. Papyrus hesitantly opened his eyes, not sure of that answer himself. One moment, he had been doing his sentry rounds in Snowdin forest. An odd smell had drifted across the path, and he’d paused to investigate. And then…

The angelic monster reached behind his neck and began to pick apart the knot tying the gag in place. Papyrus leaned forward and bowed his head. The monster hummed with approval, then tipped his chin up and tugged the cloth pad out of his mouth. Papyrus shivered with relief as it was removed, tonguing the inside of his sore jaw.

“Darling, do you have a name?”

“Papyrus,” he croaked, staring into the monster’s cruel, beautiful face with growing awe. “Are you the Angel?”

The monster laughed. It was a deep, delighted sound that immediately made him feel like he’d said the right thing.

“Unchain him.”

“M-my lord, the payment…?”

“You will HAVE your money. Now release my Butterfly before I add a maintenance fee for all the damage you’ve inflicted.”

The monster rushed forward and unlocked the cuffs. The moment he stepped back, the Angel scooped Papyrus up with cold, metallic arms and pressed him to his chest. Papyrus melted into the embrace, tension and fear evaporating into blissful relief. Safe. He was finally _safe._

Without another word, the Angel whisked him out of the building. The pained groans and muffled sobs of other, less fortunate monsters followed them on their way out. Papyrus barely noticed. He had already fallen asleep.

===

“Don’t be bashful, darling. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Papyrus’ face flushed until he could see his own cheekbones glowing. Neo (not the Angel, though he was _unutterably flattered_ by the comparison) circled him critically.  
  


“Stand straight. Let me see how tall you are...yes, that’s better…” Neo murmured, tilting his chin up until they were looking eye to eye. Papyrus shivered, badly wanting to put some clothes on. He’d never been shy about showing off a tasteful amount of leg, or even flashing a few floating ribs, but being completely naked was neither fashionable, nor particularly comfortable. 

Especially when this room was so _cold._

“Lovely, lovely.” Neo stepped back and extended his hands with thumbs and index fingers outstretched in a rectangle. “I want you dressed to show off those gorgeous legs…” 

He froze, glaring down at Papyrus’ aforementioned legs.

“That hideous _brand_ ,” Neo hissed, dropping his hands and staring at the charred ring burned into Papyrus’ shin. “What is it even trying to _say?!_ I am NOT running a labour camp, as even those backward _savages_ in Snowdin should know. How _dare_ they...”

“I’m sorry?” Papyrus didn’t like the crude, painful mark either, but there just... wasn’t much that he could do about it now?

“This is NOT your fault. What were YOU supposed to do?” Neo snapped, prowling angrily across the room. “Those _pigs_ could barely help themselves. Much longer and they would have begun taking turns defiling you in that disgusting little room. It is an absolute MIRACLE that I got you here in one piece.”

Papyrus bit his tongue, resisting the urge to boast that he’d actually done quite a bit! He’d managed to knock _three_ out of six of his attackers down to one HP before they’d subdued him, but something about the dangerous, enraged look in Mettaton’s eye made him pause. Maybe he shouldn’t mention fighting...

“I am here though! And definitely in one piece,” he beamed with a perky little bounce. “And also! I think that the burn is getting better! It doesn’t hurt as much as it did earlier.”

“Yes...yes, that is true. It is important to focus on what we _have_ ,” Neo agreed, anger dissolving into a warm smile. Animosity forgotten, he lifted a shimmery robe embroidered with the logo _MTT Neo_ off the back of a nearby chair.

“Let’s get you washed up,” he purred, draping the robe over Papyrus’ shoulders. Papyrus tucked the front closed, then felt around the waist for a sash...and then kept feeling because there wasn’t one? Goodness, this robe was so fashionable??

“One of the _private_ suites, perhaps,” Neo continued, staring thoughtfully at his desk. Sketches of models and clothing ideas were scattered across the top, almost hiding a stack of drawing pads. “Your grand entrance will lose its spark if the audience gets too many spoilers, after all.”

===

The _MTT Neo_ logo was everywhere, from the bars of soap in the bathroom, to a tessellated print on the pillows, and even stamped onto the coat hangers in the closet. Neo must be EXTREMELY proud of his brand. It was strange? And a little overwhelming?? But taking a shower in his newly-gifted VIP suite still felt amazing _,_ even if his host’s stylized face was winking cheekily at him from the shower curtain. So it was also forgivable, in the end.

Clean and dressed in his overly fashionable robe, Papyrus sat on the edge of the tub and dabbed at his leg. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the brand before, but he did agree that it was hideous. The mark was a simple circle with a bar through it, with the right side burned more deeply than the left. It itched, and the surrounding area was crazed with heat fractures. Despite the room’s overwhelming fragrance of artificial jasmine, the stench of burnt hair still clung to it...

_“His shoulder’s too small! Where the hell am I supposed to do it, his face?!”_

_“Don’t you fucking dare! You! Get his boot off!_

Papyrus pressed a hand over the mark with a long, slow inhale. Yes, it looked bad. But the more important issue was that it kept him from using magic to defend himself. And the MOST important issue was that he needed to get home! Sans must be so worried. He needed to call, and let him know that he was ok. His cell phone had been taken, along with all of his clothes, but perhaps Neo could lend him a phone?

He padded back into the bedroom, and was surprised by a knock at the door. When he answered it, Neo waltzed in, carrying a small, brass tray.

“How are you settling in, darling?” He asked, setting the tray on an end table with a flourish.

“Just fine, thank you! Though I really need to be getting home. Is there a phone that I could borrow?”

“Oh? Where is home?” Neo asked, ignoring the second question entirely. He lifted a stick of glittery incense off the tray and lit the tip. Papyrus grimaced, eyeing the blue smoke curling languidly into the air. Surely this room was sufficiently perfumed?

“I live in Snowdin,” he explained, wrinkling his nasal aperture as the artificial jasmine became eye-wateringly strong. “Near the river with my brother.”

“You have a brother? How delightful. Is he like you?”

Papyrus blinked, then shook his head, finding the question oddly funny. Sans wasn’t like him. He was LAZY. And he also played the trombone, which Papyrus could NOT do.

“That’s a pity. I would have loved to get a matching set,” Neo sighed. Papyrus giggled, imagining his brother as a squat little pepper shaker, and himself as a tall, skinny salt shaker. They didn’t match! Mostly because Sans was so little. FUN sized, as he liked to say, which was probably a stupid pun...

“Oh dear. You’re a bit of a lightweight, aren’t you?” 

Papyrus giggled again, watching the floor ripple beneath his feet like water. He tried to step into it, but then his left foot somehow got tangled with his right. Neo caught him before he could fall, and eased him to the floor in a single, practiced motion.

“Breathe, darling,” he said, holding the glittery incense close to his face. Papyrus obediently inhaled. It smelled of chemicals and something so bitter that it made his mouth feel dry...

===

“This is the new Butterfly?”

“Yes. Darling little thing, isn’t he?”

Warm fingers that smelled of candlewax and hard liquor pressed lightly against his cheek. “You used a giggle stick on him?”

Papyrus giggled weakly. That was such a funny word, _giggle_.

“One of my premium ones, yes.”

“That’s not a painkiller.”

“So? It got him here without any fuss, didn’t it?”

“That’s not going to last.”

“Well FINE. If it’s SO important, then YOU give him one! I don’t care, so long as that gorgeous body is intact and he doesn’t gain any LV.”

Papyrus cracked his eyes open. A neon-blue fire elemental came into focus above him, taking a deep drink from a metal flask. After an impressively long time, he capped it, sighed, and pointed to the door.

“Fine. Leave him. I’ll call your guards when we’re done.” 

“No damage! No LV!” Neo reiterated as he left the room. Papyrus stared woozily at the closed door, smiling distantly. Neo was so cool...

“Do you have a name, new Butterfly?”

“Pap-pie-russ,” he sniggered, over-enunciating each syllable. “What’s YOUR name?”

“Singe,” the elemental replied. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Well no! But why is ANYONE here, really? We all just have to stay optimistic and do our best! Also, I am naked!”

“... I see.”

Papyrus giggled at the bemused answer, feeling both impressed and disgusted as he stared at the counter that Singe was leaning against. It was so heavily littered with tools, empty bottles, and discarded junk mail that the mess practically looked intentional. On top of that, every exposed surface had a dull sheen to it, like the entire room was coated with a thin film of grease. It was disgusting!

“This is worse than Sans’ room! I need to call him -eep!” Papyrus tried to sit up, and something pulled tight around his wrists and ankles, keeping them outstretched in a wide spreadeagle. He blinked, then frowned up at his wrists. Two loops of rope were wrapped around each limb, and then pulled tight over the edge of a rough, wooden table.

“Ow? This is uncomfortable??” he grimaced, tugging on his legs. The rope had been passed between his tibia and fibula instead of just around his ankle, which was _irritating_ and _pinched._ “Could you-hey!”

Singe shoved a hand underneath Papyrus’ head, then pressed the metal flask against his teeth. Papyrus spluttered as what tasted like pure alcohol poured into his mouth. He spat it out, and Singe lightly slapped his cheek. 

“Drink it, new Butterfly. I don’t have any hard drugs to make this bearable for you.”

He tipped the flask again. This time, Papyrus managed a few swallows before gagging, tears rolling down his face from the vile aftertaste.

“Good Butterfly.”

Singe let go. Papyrus groaned, feeling a little sick as a low buzz pulsed through his skull. His entire face was flushed, and his chest felt so warm that his ribs were probably glowing. Whatever was in that flask was toxically strong. Did Singe drink that _regularly?!_

“Why...are you calling me a butterfly?” Papyrus rasped, uneasiness creeping into his voice as Singe tugged a skein of rope off the counter. 

“Open,” he commanded, tapping his cheek. 

“No thanks, I’m-aaAAAK?!” Papyrus squawked as instead of more alcohol, Singe forced two strands of rope between his teeth and tied them behind his head, forming a makeshift bit. Then, he tied the ends snugly to the table. Papyrus squeaked, eyes widening as the rope pulled tight across his mouth and pinned his head tightly in place.

“Now. You’re gonna be able to make a lot of noise through that,” Singe said, companionably placing a hand on his shoulder and looking him dead in the eye. “And that’s ok, because this is REALLY going to hurt.”

Papyrus squirmed, making a confused noise. Singe continued, “if it gets to be too much, then just go ahead and bite down. Sometimes that helps a bit.”

Thoroughly alarmed now, Papyrus squirmed against the ropes, digging his heels into the tabletop and jerking his hips from side to side. The table didn’t budge, but the struggling quickly made his wrists, ankles, and mouth burn from the friction. The pain cleared his mind, and panic began to bubble to the surface as the implications of being GAGGED, NAKED, and TIED TO A TABLE fully hit him. He snatched at his magic-

“AAAH!” He screamed, wrenching on his branded leg as the mark slapped him with a sharp, punishing shock. 

“Calm down,” Singe sighed, stretching out a hand over Papyrus’ branded shin. Fire dripped from his palm in a thin, glowing stream, warm as sunlight as it dribbled into the inner surfaces of his knee. It soothed the residual sting, and Papyrus tentatively fell still. Maybe Neo had sent him here to get the mark healed? He didn’t see why he had to be tied up for that, but maybe there was a good reason...

Singe picked up a flat-bladed chisel with a long handle, then placed it against the seam where Papyrus’ kneecap laid against his leg.

“Bite down,” he said, then shoved the blade under his kneecap. 

“N-AAAAGHHHHHH!” 

White-hot pain and the excruciating sensation of something being torn exploded through Papyrus’ knee. The invisible bands of magic holding the bone in place contracted in a powerful cramp as Singe pulled back on the tool, slowly wrenching them open-

_POP_

The sound reverberated through his leg as a resonant, palpable vibration. Terrifying weakness swept through the limb, and the newly-exposed surfaces flared a brilliant, angry orange as the area was engulfed in a dreadful, aching throb. Papyrus gasped brokenly around the gag, staring in horrified disbelief as Singe dropped his kneecap onto the counter. It made a distinctive, hollow clack, like wood hitting a stone floor.

Then he turned back to the table. 

“SS-HP LLEZ, NN’T AAAAHHHH **HHHH** !” Papyrus screamed, thrashing against the ropes. Singe shoved his leg down, then jammed the blade into the joint where his tibia met his femur. There was that same, tearing pain, a sharp cramp, and then a pop that jarred his leg from knee to heel. His last four toes immediately went numb. Papyrus sobbed and clamped his teeth down on the rope, praying for Sans, for Neo, for someone, for _anyone..._

Singe pulled up on his dislocated tibia, forcing his foot to bend sickeningly in half as his metatarsals struggled to remain aligned to his shin. Papyrus squeezed his eyes shut, utterly petrified as the sight of shin being lifted separately from his femur seared itself into his mind’s eye. He didn’t want to see, he didn’t want to see-

The familiar, hollow clack of Singe setting his tibia onto the countertop was almost worse.

“I’m going to take most of your toes,” he said, voice echoing strangely as Papyrus hiccupped, tears pouring down his face and sinuses already so swollen from crying that he could barely breathe. “There won’t be enough circulation to support them.”

They might have been numb, but each set of tarsals popped as they were dislocated, jarring his mutilated ankle and knee. He screamed, begging Singe to stop, then desperately asking WHY he was doing this. The gag made his words nearly incomprehensible, but Singe just ignored him, continuing with the same, brutally methodical pace. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally set the chisel aside. Papyrus laid brokenly on the table, chest fluttering with rapid, shallow breaths as he fervently prayed that it was over.

Singe reached under the table and retrieved matte, black case.

“You asked why I was calling you a Butterfly?” He asked, lifting a slender, prismatic piece of glass out of the case. It refracted the firelight from his hands, throwing soft, blue sparkles across his shirt and the ceiling. Papyrus stared at it, unable to understand its significance as dread crept down the back of his neck in a wash of hot prickles. “It’s because Neo owns you now.”

He plucked a golden screw out of the case and threaded it into the piece of glass. Then, he carefully lined it up with Papyrus’ mutilated leg. It fit perfectly...right where his tibia used to...oh _god..._

“Neo’s Butterflies are prostitutes. They earn more gold than street whores, but at the end of the day they’re all selling the same thing.”

Papyrus screamed as Singe began to drive the screw into his femur. His throat was so sore that the sound was thin and reedy, but he couldn’t stop himself. It just hurt so much...

“So you’d better get used to getting fucked, new Butterfly,” he continued, holding the false, glass tibia in place with one hand and picking up a second screw with the other. “Because that’s all you’re good for now…”

Papyrus didn’t hear what happened next. The entire room had begun to spin wildly around him, and his head was pounding in time with the magic buzzing angrily over his damaged leg. It felt so weak, so horrifyingly fragile and light. So much of it...was _missing.._ .and that _piece of glass_...

It was a mercy when everything abruptly went black.

===

Papyrus feebly opened his eyes. His lower legs were consumed by an intense, pounding ache, and stung in half a dozen places with points of invasive, stabbing pressure. It was so overwhelming that he immediately began to shiver and feel nauseous. Both of his legs hurt? But…

Oh stars, _how_ _much was left?!_

Papyrus lurched upright, groping for his legs. They were wrapped in a rough, homespun blanket that reeked of alcohol and candlewax. He tore it away-

_No…_

Sleek, transparent glass glimmered up at him, throwing tiny rainbows across the blanket and walls. His tibias, kneecaps, and last four toes on _both of his feet_ had been...been _replaced._

“ _No…”_

And the _MTT Neo_ logo was embossed on each of his shins in delicate, gold filigree.

“No no no no _no-”_ Papyrus sobbed. Tears splashed onto his femurs as he feverishly touched his fibulas and what was left of his toes, unable to believe that _anyone_ would do this…

“Oh,YES! That’s much better.”

Papyrus snapped his head up, panting raggedly and trembling Iike a captive, baby rabbit as he stared up into Neo’s thoroughly satisfied face.

“You…” he choked, voice hoarse and barely louder than a whisper. “But...w-why...”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Neo cooed, leaning forward and thumbing his tear-streaked cheek. Papyrus angrily jerked away, and Neo withdrew with a condescending tut. 

“Why? Well, just look at yourself! That is precision cut, Atlantean-style crystal. The King’s wine goblets are made of the same material! And the effect is _fabulous._ ”

Papyrus slowly looked down, eyes inescapably drawn to the golden screws sunk deep into what was left of his legs. To the gold piano wire holding the glass toes together. To Neo’s loud, blatant logo, shattering any possibility of doubt as to who was responsible for doing this to him. Shock warred with anger, and an unbearable, howling sense of loss. They were so _cold_ . So heavy. _They hurt so goddamn much._

“You should be THANKING me,” Neo was saying above him. “A few moments of pain, and I’ve literally doubled your value.”

Value. His…

“Now stand up. Let me see if the supporting structures were placed correctly…”

Papyrus numbly allowed Neo to pull him upright, head ringing, vision blurred, and mouth overfilling with saliva. The moment his dead, glass tarsals touched the carpet, he doubled over, puking violently all over Neo’s boots. Neo let go and took a step back, looking mildly surprised at the sour mess. Papyrus immediately collapsed to the floor, dissolving into wracking, full-body sobs as he miserably drew what was left of his legs into a weak, protective curl.

===

_Three days later_

The polished, chrome pole shone under a dozen stage lights, leaving nothing in shadow. Papyrus could literally smell the makeup and antiperspirants that Neo had smeared onto his body baking under their sheer intensity. He shouldn’t have been capable of sweating after all that, but somehow his legs had perspired enough to make the sheer, babydoll dress and matching negligee stick to them.

“Do I hear one hundred and ten?”

Papyrus walked in a circle, clinging tightly to the pole with his right hand. His gait was deliberate, hips swaying with each light, measured step. It probably looked seductive, to someone who didn’t know that it was enforced by pain.

“One hundred and ten! Sir, you have been outbid! Will you let that stand when this little piece of virtue is on the line?!” The auctioneer cheerfully taunted.

Papyrus carefully turned around, hating that he needed the pole’s assistance. Hating that even ONE wrong step could shear a golden screw, sending him back to Singe for a painful replacement. Neo had said that it made him _dainty._ He ground his teeth together, fury pulling his chest into a tight, bitter knot at the memory-

Stop thinking about it, just _stop..._

“Two HUNDRED? Sir, you may have just bought yourself a virgin Butterfly. Do I hear a competing bid?”

Papyrus sullenly listened for the next bid behind an artificial smile, unable to see the faces of his prospective, first clients. Neo had been very specific about what they would expect him to do, and what would happen to him if he didn’t-

Stop thinking about it. Stop. Just concentrate...keep smiling...

“Two hundred and fifty!”


End file.
